A Face Not Forgotten
by paycheckgurl
Summary: When the universe has stopped making sense, Jack hopes the Doctor can put it right. Unfortunately, the face that steps out of the TARDIS is one Jack really did not want to see again.


**Disclaimer: Don't own it. **

**A/N I had a nasty case of writer's block and some lost files, but I'm till working on my Spider-Man stories, I swear. **

**So anyways, as those have watched _Children of Earth _know, Doctor Number 12 (13? 14?) is a familiar face, hence this story. I also wanted to try and address the two contradictory versions of what happened to rift: the events of the radio drama _Torchwood the Lost Files: House of the Dead (_which you should all go to the interwebs and find as it is amazing) and a comment Russel T. Davies apparently made about 11 sealing the cracks of the universe also sealing the rift (but the cracks not being completely sealed, as we know now). I also wanted to address that Mircale Day doesn't fit ****in with the rest of the Whoinverse (no Martha-who as a medical professional and unofficial Torchwood member should have been involved, not a word from Amy or Rory who were on Earth at time, and a rather annoying cliff hanger we were left with that becomes even less resolved after comments about Jack's status in Day of the Doctor). Speaking of which SPOILERS for DAY OF THE DOCTOR, MIRACLE DAY, CHILDREN OF EARTH, THE TORCHWOOD RADIO DRAMAS, AND ANY RECENT DOCTOR WHO DEVELOPMENTS. That is all. **

The grin on the face of one Captain Jack Harkness probably wasn't cable of getting any larger as he ran toward the distinctive whirring mechanical sound of the TARDIS. His last few years since returning to Earth and reversing the effects of the "Miracle" that had made it so every human on Earth couldn't die, had been spent, it order, discovering Rex seemed to share his "gift" of immortality, trying to find a way to _reverse_ Rex's "gift" of immortality, possibly-maybe, _finding_ a way to reverse Rex's "gift" of immortality that involved a rather dramatic death for himself (complete with tearful "final" goodbye tears from Gwen and Rhys and the "finality" of leaving his vortex manipulator in the hands of UNIT-he made a mental note to track down the doe eyed UNIT officer that had handled that interaction to get it back-an Oswin something-or-other). Then there was returning to life, yet again, to find no one even remembered the Miracle, Gwen, Rhys, and Rex had disappeared-and in Rex's case, apparently, never existed, discovering UNIT had noted Rift spike reading off the charts despite the Rift (supposedly) being permanently sealed, and his own memories being unable to decide if the Rift had been sealed by the "ghost" of Ianto bravely sacrificing his afterlife, or something to do with a Big Bang (but not _the_ Big Bang) and a cult of stars. But finally, something good was happening. He was getting help. He was seeing an old friend. His best friend until the very end of time itself. The right kind of Doctor to sort through the cosmic joke that had been his life lately.

The TARDIS finished materializing in front of him and the doors creaked open. Jack waited in anticipation as a figure stepped out. And then he recoiled in horror. _No. No. __**NO! **_The man that stepped out wasn't the frustratingly attractive, tall, floppy haired, pinstripe wearing man that had given him Alonzo's name in that off-world bar. But that wasn't the reason Jack suddenly found himself breaking out into a cold sweat. He knew damn well the Doctor regenerated into a new man when he died, and he actually suspected he was staving off regeneration during that last meeting. What he hadn't been expecting was the face of John Frobisher.

Horrible memories Jack had gone planets away to forget came flooding back. Ianto, dying in his arms. Laying there unmoving, looking up at him as Jack chocked up the damn words he hadn't been able to say. Didn't say. _I love you. I love you, too. I may live forever, but you're always going to be a part of me; a permanent fixture in my memories. My _LONG _memories. Ianto don't go! I need you and literally can't go on without you. I love you. Ianto. _

Muddled memories that Jack wasn't even sure were real of him rectifying this somewhat months later, with Ianto's ghost in a musty old pub turned portal to dead and a creature older than time, managed to push through. Finally chocking out that "I love you" to a ghost that was very much Ianto in every conceivable way. Wasn't really a ghost. Was his poor, lost, Welshman in every way. Lost souls everywhere. The House of the Dead. Instead of making him feel better the memory made the hurt worse. He had lost him again. Ianto Jones, alive as he would ever be, was too good of a man to just leave the House of the Dead with Jack. Instead, he stayed and sealed the Rift. Always the loyal agent, dutifully finishing his mission even after the end. He saved not only Cardiff, but the entire world from one of the most ancient evils in existence. Again. And again, he was lost. To the nothingness after death. To the dark.

The other set of memories, so much more unclear, but somehow stronger in their "realness", tried to claw through. Stars in the sky that no one else other Companions and otherwise enlightened-about-the-universe individuals could see. But they weren't the Companions. Weren't the Children of Time. They didn't know each other through the Doctor. No, they were a Star Cult. Brand new timeline. A crack in the universe. And the Big Bang. All of the cracks sealed. Rift? What Rift? Aliens in London? A Rift through time and space in Cardiff? How ridiculous. No such thing. But then what did Torchwood do? Torchwood defended Cardiff from aliens. How? With Alien technology. From the Rift. There was no Rift. But there was. But there wasn't. There was definitely Torchwood. There was definitely Gwen and Tosh and Owen and Weevils in the sewers and Myfanwy and PC Andy and the SUV and the HUB and Rhys and the contacts and Suzie and Grey in the freezers and time travel and the invisible lift and the tourist office and Ianto. There was definitely Ianto. There was definitely Torchwood and alien fighting. But there was no Rift. But there was. But there wasn't. His mind went in circles like this, finally deciding it would somehow less cruel to go back to Ianto's lifeless form.

And then the memories gave way to Steven. His grandson, only seven years old. His own flesh and blood. Standing still as good old "Uncle Jack" hooked him up to a foreign machine, and bombarded him with a frequency so loud and strong he shook and bleed to death. His mother watching from the other room, screaming in desperation. Begging her father to stop. Begging her father to stop killing her son. The innocent child sacrificed to save the many. By his own grandfather. By him. If Ianto hadn't died he probably wouldn't have been able to, at least not by his own hand and not nearly as willingly. But Jack Harkness had crossed the moral event horizon that day. The man that lived (and lived, and lived) for the Doctor's affirmation that he was a good man decided he wasn't. That it didn't matter anymore. Save the world. Save the kids. Fuck how it's done or what's lost because the universe is a cruel, heartless, bitch anyway. What little idealism he had left died with a suit wearing Welshman in Thames House.

At the center of it all was the face that had emerged from the TARDIS. From the brilliant blue, phone box shaped ship that (even _after_ that business of dragging him through the Vortex for all of eternity) represented everything Jack associated with words like "good", "second chance", "safe", and "salvation". There stood the face of Frobisher.

Frobisher destroyed his Torchwood, what he had spent a century creating. Destroyed the Hub. His home. His life's work. His everything. And out of sheer stupidity and selfishness. There was an alien invasion, and he gave the order to destroy the world's largest collection of alien technology. Torchwood could have helped. They offered to help. But he gave the order. Destroy Torchwood. Destroy Captain Jack Harkness. Destroy it all. And he did. He did because he was too much of a coward to admit Brittan had screwed up all those years ago. Too desperate to hold on to his precious government position. Too full of himself to let UNIT and Torchwood, organizations that existed precisely because of this type of situation, do their damn jobs. If Frobisher hadn't been around there wouldn't have been a fucking life support system for 456 built in Thames House. Ianto wouldn't have been exposed to the noxious gases that killed him. He'd probably be there with Jack. Safe. Alive. _Ianto._

**_To be continued. _**


End file.
